


Practice Makes Perfect

by therogueheart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: BDSM dynamics, Insomnia, Late Night Practice, M/M, Mention of smut, RDJ is Daddy material, RDJ is a Dom, Robert helps Tom practise, Sassy Tom, The rooftop scene, Tom is a total sub, Tom knows it, Tom knows that too, dynamic exploration, i dont even know, rooftop scene rehearsal, sensual rehearsals, snarky RDJ, tumblr repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22071421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therogueheart/pseuds/therogueheart
Summary: “If you even cared, you’d actually be here!”“I am, kiddo”.Tom nearly threw himself off the short ledge he’d been balancing on, stifling his shriek with his hand as he whipped around. There, near where Tom had dumped his things, was Robert. Robert, who’s hair was messy-rumpled from sleep, clad in nothing but a soft pair of sweatpants and a thin wifebeater. Robert, who grinned at him lazily, dazzlingly from where he leaned against a lighting beam, arms folded, hips cocked.
Relationships: Robert Downey Jr./Tom Holland
Comments: 4
Kudos: 178





	Practice Makes Perfect

It was a little known fact that Tom developed something of a little insomnia, during filming. There were nights when the sheer exhaustion won out and he would drag himself off set, collapsing face-down into his bed and sleeping straight through to his next alarm, but then of course, there were plenty of nights like tonight. 

_Spiderman: Homecoming_ is well in swing (pun unintended, but totally awesome) and it’s been the Marvel career Tom has been dreaming of since he was old enough to read the comics and watch the animations. Some days, he isn’t even sure that this isn’t all some twisted dream, or that he hasn’t hit his head and this is his perfect coma world. 

Well. Not _quite_ perfect, since it’s around three in the morning and he had yet to actually manage any sleep. The past week had been spent filming the scenes for the ferry sequence, and it had been exhausting to say the least. Tom had bruises in places bruises had no business being, and every muscle continuously reminded him of the fact he was doing the majority of his own stunts. 

This is a frequent night-time routine, tossing and turning in his bed or sitting at the little kitchenette in his trailer, pouring over the script and stressing about the next day of filming. He knew he shouldn’t, knew that the directors had no issues with his performances so far, but. 

Maybe it’s the legacy he’s fulfilling. The latest face in a long saga, but quite possibly the one filling the biggest shoes. He’s in the MCU’s _biggest_ league, working alongside their most iconic actors and characters. Maybe it’s the fact that one such iconic presence is _Robert Downey Jr._ Maybe it’s the constant doubt of his acting, of what he must look like alongside people like Chris Hemsworth and Jeremy Renner. 

The Avengers non-withstanding, all of his co-stars are already the faces behind several iconic roles. Already have successful, recognisable, established careers behind their belt. And, sure. Tom isn’t exactly baby-faced when it came to acting, but he was certainly no Sherlock Holmes or Human Torch. 

Maybe it’s just the fact that he’s working 7/7 days a week, often from one day straight into the next, filming at all hours and repeating the same scenes over and over until there’s 20 different takes to splice up and choose from. Whatever the underlying issue, it had resulted in countless sleepless nights. 

However, he’d also developed a coping mechanism. Or, rather a _productive_ way of passing the hours. With a deep sigh, he rolled over and heaved himself off the bed, tidying his pillow before he ambled across the trailer, reaching for the drawer he kept the scripts within. The night was relatively warm, L.A’s August heat enough that all Tom had worn to bed was his boxers and a thin, worn v-neck he wasn’t entirely aware he’d packed. 

The script was one of several copies, the one that Watts had advised they would be attempting first in the morning. It was time for the turning point in Peter’s story; the _rooftop scene_. Tom shivered at the mere thought, the script fluttering in his grip for a moment before he relaxed, moving back to the edge of his bed. 

It wasn’t that he _put off_ his scenes with Robert, per se. It was just…He had a tendency to nudge them aside, throw himself into his lone scenes and his stunts. The idea of working with Robert made his heart drop, and flutter the whole way down. Robert was talented, intuitive, devastatingly handsome. It gave Tom a little bit of a complex, filming with him. And practising? Fuck. 

That had to be done around others, or Tom felt he couldn’t be held responsible for what he might do. The way that Robert was just so _Tony_ without even _trying_. The effortless, animated way he threw himself into character, never breaking it even when Tom messed up or he decided to ad-lib. The way Robert’s hair curled in the mornings, soft and dark before the makeup crew dived at it with product. 

_Christ_. The way Robert looked in a suit and Tony’s signature shades. The way his voice dipped and husked when Tony Stark bossed Peter around. It all merged into one big Thing that steadily grew until Tom couldn’t ignore it. Until even his co-stars had noticed how he changed around the older man. 

Chris (”when Hems is around, just shout for Cevans”) had taken him aside, during the filming of Civil War. All sootied up and dressed as the good Captain, grinning soft and broad at Tom as he told him _not to worry. Don’t get so starstruck. Robert is just a man and you’re doing great. You’re doing awesome_. Tom had promptly left to go bang his head against a wall, but had tried to keep his raging crush and complex under control. 

Now, without Chris’ soft, knowing looks to guilt him into behaving, Tom wasn’t all that sure he wouldn’t do something stupid when filming. He already took too many liberties; touching when he could, ad-libbing into developing the mentor-mentee relationship Watts wanted to present (baiting the fans, Tom knew. Homecoming was Peter-Tony bait, and it would be ripped apart in the future). 

So he avoided practising with Robert as much as he could, utilising his sleepless nights by wandering the set in the dark hours, practising his lines to the empty air and bracing himself for how good Robert would look in the coming hours, the way his voice would sound, the way whatever $4,000 suit he had on would shape his body. 

Tom shook his head, biting his lip to bring himself back to the present as he reached for a pair of ankle socks, tugging them on before slipping his feet into the sneakers at the side of his bed. They were in Los Angeles, the set having been sculpted over the past month to resemble a building rooftop. Tom wondered if the fans knew just _how much_ of the MCU was CGI and clever building work. 

He debating redressing, but it was unlikely that even the set-up crew would be there this early, and so he settled upon grabbing a zip-up hoodie, large and baggy and probably someone else’s. It was soft and grey and was missing the strings, but it came down to his thighs and was warm, and he draped it over his arm as he scooped up his keys and a water bottle, pushing his door open. 

It was still pitch black, and he used his phone as a torch, folded script tucked into his pocket as he crept past the line of other trailers. Robert’s was by far the biggest, and was three spaces across from Tom’s, dark and shut down as the man no doubt slumbered away peacefully. 

Tom envied him, just a little. And was acutely aware that it was ridiculous he also envied the bed Robert was draped on. The sheets wrapped around his body. Shaking his head at himself, he tip-toed onward, past the rows of trailers and the craft area, moving until he reached the large, open space of the set. It was essentially like a boxing ring, a giant square platform with one edge cut away to allow for a small set of steps leading onto it. 

In the morning, there would be a single, green-screen colour step there, where Robert would stand whilst pretending to hover as Iron Man, and where he would step down in reaction to Peter’s outburst, revealing himself. For now, the little half-cube was empty, quiet. Tom fumbled around in the darkness until he found the switch for the dim safety lights, wincing as they came on. 

He waited, practically holding his breath; but nobody stirred, the set far enough away that the light didn’t reach the trailers. He let out a heavy exhale and approached, setting his hoodie and his bottle down and pulling the script from his pocket. He knew _why_ the scene had to happen, but it still always made something in his chest cinch to read it. 

How those words devastated everything within Peter. How the trust and the love and the feelings, carefully sculpted for Tony over years of admiration and then being approached crumbled, nothing but rubble in his chest. Losing the two things that were possibly the most prominent driving forces, Aunt May aside. 

Tom shook himself off, psyched himself up as he paced the cube, slipping inch by inch into Peter’s mind. It wasn’t all that hard; they shared their similarities, their behaviours. Tom supposed that was part of why being Peter came so easily, so naturally. He let himself sink into the mindset, pacing and coaxing himself into the right state.

“I did good. I _know_ I did good. I saved those people. I did my best. He’s gotta believe me now. He _has_ to” he breathed to himself, shaking his head as the set fell away into a rooftop on a sunny day, the high-up air chilly at his cheeks, the knowledge that Tony would come to him forcing him to keep moving, restless. So much was riding on this. Practically his entire future. Maybe. 

The roar of thrusters, the ripple of disturbance in the air. The prickle at his senses as Tony approached. It didn’t escape Tom, the nature behind the fact they had Tony stop above Peter, suited and booted. It was a physical representation of the power dynamic, the relationship. The nature of the scene. 

Robert’s voice, as clear as bells in his mind, with all that Tony Stark flare, the way he’d bounce from sentence to sentence. The rigid power behind each word. He could feel his lower lip wobble a little, brows pulling as he tried to bring himself to ask. 

“Is everyone okay?”. 

He stopped, mulling it over. Peter was scared, but also angry. He tried again, defiantly this time. It didn’t feel quite as right as being meek, soft where Tony was jagged, so he repeated it the way he had before. Peter wasn’t in that place yet, where he would challenge Tony Stark. Where he would slowly find his feet and push back, instead of relenting. 

In truth, Tom liked it this way. It felt right, backing down where Robert pressed, looking away instead of holding his gaze. And perhaps that was Tom, bleeding into the character. Perhaps it was just a nod to Robert’s talents. Tom shifted, tugged his boxers down a little where they had ridden up. They were little more than girls’ boxers, short and tight at the thighs. He had several pairs to wear under the CGI and the actual spandex suit. 

The anger at Tony’s next words, more hurt than genuine rage. He’d helped. He’d been there when Tony _hadn’t._ Was pretty sure Tony was only there because Peter had been. “No thanks to me?” More force. More courage. But still hurt, still scared. Tony was supposed to support him. Teach him. Not…This. 

He tried that sentence a few times, varied the levels of anger, of pain. Watts wanted this part to be an outburst, the hurt and rage bubbling over, the tipping point to where Tony would make that crushing choice to take it all away. He stood on the edge of the structure, looked out over the city he’d chosen to protect. Let Tony’s words run through his head. 

He twisted in anger, explosive this time as he spat the words out, stopped. Too much anger didn’t seem like Peter. Soft, bubbly Peter. So he softened it a little on the next run before taking a water break, consulting his script again. If he was a little more alert, a little less invested, he might’ve heard the soft, deliberately careful footsteps. Might have noticed the figure taking the same path he had, some half an hour ago. 

As it was, he turned away again, moving to the next line. It was the last sentence he always stumbled over. _If you even cared, you’d actually be here_. God, how much pain was in that. How much anger. Every way he tried it was good, but almost never enough. He hated it, hated saying it. Hated that this was part of their journey, although he understood and respected it. 

He mulled it over, wandering the structure for a few rounds before he settled, went through the line before it. Psyched himself up, let his body tremble with it, the words fighting to be free until - 

“If you even cared, you’d actually _be here_!”

“ _I am, kiddo_ ”. 

Tom nearly threw himself off the short ledge he’d been balancing on, stifling his shriek with his hand as he whipped around. There, near where Tom had dumped his things, was Robert. Robert, who’s hair was messy-rumpled from sleep, clad in nothing but a soft pair of sweatpants and a thin wifebeater. Robert, who grinned at him lazily, dazzlingly from where he leaned against a lighting beam, arms folded, hips cocked. 

“Great minds really _do_ think alike” the older actor drawled, smile turning soft as he pushed upright, moving with a natural, easy saunter towards the podium. It was then that the tepid air on his thighs reminded Tom of his state of dress and he flushed, shifting nervously on the spot. 

“Did I wake you?” He asked, chewing at his lip as he looked past Robert, towards his hoodie. How would it look, if he danced around him, skirted his advance to reach it? He stayed put for the moment, watched the way Robert gracefully ascended the steps. In response, the actor shook his head, hair softly flopping against his temple at the action. 

“Nah, Tommy. You and I share this; I sneak in practise when I can’t sleep, too” Robert admitted, his voice raspy with sleep as he slowly ambled the cube, looking around. Tom took the distraction as an opportunity to stare. The wifebeater clung to Robert’s toned form, exposed thick biceps and broad shoulders. His sweatpants were low on his hips, snug at the thighs and calves. 

“Oh. Right, ‘course. D’you…I can go? If you want to practise alone” he offered, toeing the edge of the set as he stepped carefully along, inching towards modest cover. Robert twirled on the spot, casting him an amused, sideways glance. 

“Seeing as the scene we both planned on rehearsing is one we have together, and we’re now here together…” Robert responded, voice amused and perhaps a little teasing. Tom could see his point. Though they’d rehearsed this briefly together, it was never in full and always surrounded by other people, feeling the script rather than actually acting it. Tom’s fault, admittedly. He couldn’t help the half-chub this scene incited. 

“What, you want a private opportunity to laugh at how shit I am?” He tossed back, but it was easy banter, broken by a smile as he continued his way forwards. Salvation to his exposed skin was so close, that of course Robert’s gaze followed his aim, and the man cocked a brow, easy and confident as he leaned back a little, head cocking. It was the exact sort of mannerism Tony Stark would have, and it spun Tom’s head a little. 

“Shy?” The man grinned, almost a baring of his teeth as he turned on the spot, following Tom’s path. Tom snorted, but stopped, turning to face Robert. The man had seen him drowned like a rat and half naked already. Plus, whilst fully covering, Spiderman’s suit didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination. 

“Maybe I’m just a sweet prairie girl, never been around a man such as yourself before, Mister. And my, how unholy it is of me, to flaunt such skin before your modest person” he drawled, thick and high as he fluttered his lashes. Robert’s laughter was quiet but genuine, cheeks bunched and shoulders shaking. It was the kind that crinkled the corner of his eyes, and Tom didn’t even try to fight the warmth that spread across his chest in response. 

“Sweet, maybe. The rest I call bullshit on” Robert shot back, beginning to stroll the set. “So. Since you have an allergy to properly rehearsing with me, I consider this the perfect opportunity to get a little practise in before we do it on camera” Robert divulged, eyes twinkling as he looked across at Tom. And, fuck. Of course Robert was smart enough to have also noticed.

Tom sniffed delicately, allowing his voice to slip into Peter’s pitched, boyish voice. The accent and the little vocal quirks came as easily to him now as breathing. “Oh, I don’t know. Does the mighty Mr. Stark actually have time for me, now?” He asked, spinning to fully face Robert, who straightened, meeting the change fluidly. 

A brow arched, slow and deliberate. The tip of his head challenging as he took a predatory step forwards. “Curb that attitude, kid. I’m right here”. Tom had to repress a shiver, dropping Peter’s persona to rub his palms down his thighs, looking away with a smile. The dim lighting did nothing to take away from Tony’s portrayal, the shadows accentuating Robert’s impressive figure, shading his eyes and sculpting his form in place of a fancy outfit. 

“I don’t mean to. Avoid you, y’know? I just…” He trailed off. How did you explain all of the factors in this? Where would he even start? Was it even possible to admit you had a crush on your recently divorced co-star, double your age?

“Hey, I get it, kiddo. I do. Acting isn’t as straight-arrow as everyone thinks and being famous doesn’t mean you stop being a person” Robert tossed back, soft and so breakingly gentle. Tom nodded, accepting that as an easy out before he gathered his wits and turned away from his hoodie. No point in assuming modesty now. Robert had seen enough. 

“Okay. Let’s do it” he agreed, hopping from the ledge to shake himself into some semblance of professional. Perhaps this was for the best, anyway. Tom was a professional, after-all. Had an actual job to do, and letting his personal life affect it would do nothing for his career, his working life. Not _this_ personal issue, anyway. 

They chatted idly for a brief moment, working out where Tom was at with the scene, discussing lightly the emotions, the reasons, the dynamic. Robert was on the same wave-length, saddened by the interaction but understanding it as a pivotal point in Peter’s life. Tony Stark’s actions on this rooftop were paramount in the making of Spiderman. Of Peter Parker. 

“Start from the beginning. I liked what I saw when you were loning it” Robert coaxed, backing away to give Tom space. They slipped easily into the roles, Robert clapping his hands quietly in lieu of a flying suit approaching and Tom running through his lines the way he had before, presenting his interpretations to Robert, who met them easily with Tony’s confidence, his bluntness. 

The flatness of his tone, the easy, brutal dismissal in ‘no thanks to you’ struck Tom to the core, knocking him out of Peter for a moment. Robert waited patiently through the slip up, as liquid in being Tony Stark as water flowed. It was easy, almost painfully so. The smooth words, the way Robert held himself even whilst pretending to be in the Iron suit. It was powerful, oozing the higher-up dynamic Tony played off against Peter’s meeker, softer one. 

And then. 

“I wanna do the caring line. I feel like that’s the electric point in this scene. I think that’s where it all _really_ becomes a live wire” Robert cut through their breathing pause, Tom nearly inhaling his water instead of wallowing it. Fuck. That scene. It ached enough just pretending. Actually doing it with Robert? Tom angled his body away, desperately willing down the almost automatic spike of arousal. 

“How does it feel to you? To Peter?” Robert continued, running a hand through his hair to tidy it as Tom tried to get himself back under control. They’d been running through the whole no thanks to you sequence for a while, and Tom’s hands were shaky, his throat tight with Peter’s betrayed anger. Robert had looked impressed each time, gaze dark, retaliating in kind with Tony’s attitude. 

“Uh. Well it’s…Peter. I mean, he’s hurt. And he’s angry. But he’s not…Aggressive. Aggressive isn’t him” he shrugged, rubbed at his thighs again. It was true. Peter was determined, stubborn, ready to fight the good fight. But he wasn’t aggressive. He wasn’t like Steve, lie Tony, like Thor. Even angry, it was just his voice, just hurt little words. 

“Tony is…A big part of his life. And he’s lost all the men in his life that he’s looked up to. His Dad, his Uncle, and now Tony. He’s drowning in human emotions and he’s probably drowning under his senses, too” Tom added, thoughtful. It was something Marvel had seemed to forget, despite their dramatic displays with the other Toby’s Spiderman and Andrew’s Amazing Spiderman.

Peter Parker had heightened senses too. And although they were touching on his strength and skills in Homecoming, Marvel didn’t seem all that interested in portraying Spiderman as they had before. Or giving him much depth, despite planning several stand-alone movies. Robert was looking thoughtfully across at him, head tipped and one of those soft, lopsided smiles curving his mouth. 

“That just Peter, or are you projecting?” Robert asked, and Tom huffed, shot him the middle finger with a slow roll of his eyes. 

“Oh, fuck you, Robert Downey _Stark_. As if you aren’t basically this universe’s Tony” he pointed out, but he was unable to stop a grin. Robert shrugged, shameless. His answering grin was bright, broad. There were people like Chris Evans, who despite portraying Steve Rogers perfectly, shared only minimal similarities. Then there were people like Robert and Chris Pratt, who were basically their characters, without the powers. 

“Alright, alright. Hackles down. Come on, sweetheart. This scene and we can hit our beds before Watts wakes us up for that ‘sweet spot morning sunshine’“ Robert beamed, turning away to place himself where he had been stood before, shaking out his shoulders before he cocked his head. “Are you cold, by the way? Little pyjamas like that. You can get your hoodie, if you want”. 

It was meant to be caring. Except there was something in Robert’s eyes like a challenge, a tilt to his smile that was almost daring Tom to actually move for his hoodie. Instead, he shot the same look back and moved, walked the edge of the set before he leapt down, approached. It was easy, to sink straight back into Peter. Easier still to watch the way Robert’s jaw ticked, his gaze dark. 

“None of this would’ve happened if you had just listened to me, Mr. Stark. If you even cared, you’d actually be here!” Tom seethed, voice cracking over the words, helpless to his emotions. He threw his hands up accusingly, advancing towards where Robert stood, where the suit would hover above him, intimidating and impenetrable. 

And Robert was flexing his arms, gaze thunderous, pinning Tom down with his eyes as he stepped closer, spine straight. Immediately, Tom jerked back a step, eyes wide, chest heaving. _He was_. 

“Again” Robert suddenly, breaking from the steely gaze, the ultimate power raidating from him, even without the suit, the sharply styled features. Tom looked away, took a few steps to re-centre himself. He knew the drill. They would try it, over and over, different ways each time until they found _the one_. 

He shifted, tossed a glare across his shoulder. “None of _this_ -” He pointed across to the side. “Would have happened if you had just _listened_ to me. If you even cared, you’d be here”. He advanced as he spoke, gesturing wildly, gaze fixed on the suit. It was easy, with the suit. With those inhuman, glowing eyes. He couldn’t do this to Mr. Stark’s face. His voice wavered over the words, tears building in his eyes. All he wanted was to be good. To be like Tony. To prove something, be worth something. 

And then…Tony, stepping forwards like a wall of sheer power. Pressing into his space, forcing Peter to step back, to soften. Tom knew he was projecting in the way he glanced off, baring the side of hi throat briefly. “Again. Last line” Robert commanded in much the way Tony would say _I did listen, kid_. 

Tom shifted, threw his gaze back up, shoulders tensing and advancing where Robert stepped back. “If you even cared, Mr. Stark, you’d be here”. It was rasped, hurt and angry, his body a live wire as Robert stepped forwards again, towered over him. Robert wasn’t the tallest of actors, but Tom was shorter still, to Robert’s jaw. 

He shifted, heart stuttering, backed away against the advance of Robert’s presence, immediately giving in. He tipped his head, glanced away, felt all the fight melt from his bones. Tony did that, effortlessly. 

“I _did_ listen, kid. You think I didn’t? Who’d you think called the FBI, huh? _Me_. I did. _Again_ ”. The last word was Robert, stepping off again. Tom’s heart pounded in his chest, palms scrubbing at his thighs. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this. It got harder, each time. Worse, to be mindful of covering his half-hard dick. The worst thing about this scene was it was one of those types that sunk into reality, blurring the lines. 

This time, Robert didn’t back away as much, forced the scene so that Tom advancing brought them almost toe-to-toe. Tom ran the lines again, palms pressing against his thighs as he gasped the words out, eyes blazing. Robert flexed again, code for the stepping-out-of-the-suit moment, except when he pressed forwards, he almost knocked into Tom, forcing him to skitter backwards, desperate to relent. 

“I - _Mr. Stark_ ” He choked out, gaze falling to the floor, body almost sinking downwards. It was impossible that Robert hadn’t caught that, and the man interrupted, another forceful _again_ that almost had Tom sobbing, shifting to use his thigh to deflect from where he was getting harder. 

Robert stepped off enough to let Tom straighten fully again, but leaving barely any breathing room. Tom forced the line out once more, chest heaving as he pressed. Robert retaliated, pressing in, except this time he didn’t stop when Tom scrambled to back down, pressing further until Tom’s legs shook, Robert invading his space, pressing, towering above as Tom caved, sinking to one knee, head turned away. 

He could hear Robert’s heavy exhale, could see the way the man shifted, dark navy sweatpants moving against his thigh. Tom’s fingers dug into his own, whole body trembling. This wasn’t the scene, this wasn’t the way it went, but fuck it if he couldn’t have stopped it. It was too much, he was too exhausted to fight it, to separate Tony’s power from Robert’s. The dynamic, the names. 

“ _Tom_ ” Robert’s voice was soft, his body shifting as the older man sunk down, hands coming into Tom’s field of vision. He forced himself to breathe out, exhale long as shaky as Robert’s hands came to his cheeks, cupping his jaw gently to lift his head. The man looked…Soft. Revered. Concerned. “Hey, shortstack” he coaxed, smiling warmly as Tom looked up, forced himself to relax. 

“You did good, kiddo. Really. That was intense” Robert murmured, ran his hand across the soft hair at Tom’s temple before he moved to grasp his arms, pulling him to his feet. “Didn’t expect you to play it that way”. And there was something teasing but genuine in his voice. No way Robert didn’t know that was Tom, not Peter. 

“Fuck off, I’m tired. And you play Tony too well” Tom shot back, forcing himself to release his thigh, pulling from Robert’s grip to head for his water. Robert had the familiar scent of aftershave, minty and fresh. It was strong, as always, but not overpowering, not too much. Tom drank water until his tummy ached and then ducked, scooping up his hoodie, sipping it on. A protective barrier. Another layer. 

“Language, you little shit” Robert threw back, grinning as he approached. He looped an arm over Tom’s shoulders, drew him in. “For real, though. That…Wasn’t Peter”. The look he shot across the space between them was meaningful, though still light. Tom looked away, shoulders hunching. How was he supposed to explain that? Fuck, it would take hours. 

“Imagine the hysteria if that was the actual scene” Robert suddeny murmured, voice lilted, a deliberate break in the tension. Tom couldn’t help snorting a giggle, hunching over again, but in amusement this time, trying to stifle his laughter. 

“We’re professional actors, Rob. Not porn stars” he reminded his co-star, soft and sated as he broke away, stooping for his things. They still had maybe two or three hours before they had to get up, and he felt loose enough that sleep was a real possibility. Robert shot him a wounded look. 

“Are you trying to say porn stars _aren’t_ professional actors?” He asked, voice tinged with false hurt. Tom rolled his eyes and they begun the walk back to the trailer in companionable, quiet banter. Robert presenting his case that porn stars are as much professional actors as himself and Tom, and Tom trying to argue the differences in their methods, their expectations without setting his cheeks on fire. 

Robert walked him all the way to his trailer, leaning casually against the side as Tom fumbled for his keys. His eyes are getting heavy, body craving nothing but the comfort and warmth of his bed. Tom supposed it was akin to a soft sub-fall. “Get some rest, darling” Robert advised, voice soft, sweatpants lopsided on his hips as he shifted, pushed away. 

“Oh, and. Nice undies. Very minimalist” Robert winked, throwing the remark over his shoulder as he headed for his own trailer, a deliberate saunter in his steps. Tom nearly stabbed his key through the door, twisting to stare open-mouthed as the older man retreated. 

_They nailed the scene dynamic on the first shoot. Watts and Fordson stared, astounded from their seats as the two broke apart, taking a breather. It was perfect. The right amount of push and give, of hurt and angry. It was exactly what the script demanded._

_“I liked it better when you were on your knees” Robert had remarked, casual and quiet in his ear as they leaned forwards watching it on the screen. And if that’s where they ended up several hours later, Tom on his knees, Robert’s hands tucked down into his tight, short little boxers. Well._

_That was their business._


End file.
